Jondix Turns Human Skin Into the Universe’s Favourite Exit Strategy
Some artists sketch ideas. Jondix channels transmissions. Armed with sacred geometry, meditative ink, and a suspiciously steady hand, he etches cosmic spirals, Kali goddesses, and doom-laced mandalas onto some of the world’s most spiritually scorched dermises - from rock royalty to post-ego pilgrims. A former architectural student turned geometry whisperer, doom guitarist, gallery artist, and independent publisher, he’s less “tattooist” and more esoteric cartographer with a coil machine. People call him the tattoo artist’s tattoo artist, the kind you summon after your identity dissolves, but before your next incarnation settles in. Whether conjuring symmetry out of his shop Seven Doors Tattoo in London or riffing ritualistic chaos across New York, LA, and Tokyo, the results are uncannily consistent: strange beauty, unnerving precision, and the creeping sense that your chakras just got recalibrated without consent. His work doesn’t sit on skin; it hums. Stare too long, and the ink might start whispering back.
Levon Bliss Builds Cathedrals Out of Wings and Warnings, Then Dares Us to Look Closer
A nature doc zoomed in to the microbial level, lit by a Baroque-era lighting obsessive, and framed with Wes Anderson’s symmetry fetish. That’s roughly the entry point to Levon Bliss’s meticulously surreal world. The British macrophotographer-turned-eco-griot has made it his mission to turn bugs - yes, bugs - into planetary celebrities. With a camera rig that looks like NASA built it for fun, Bliss stacks thousands of high-res images to reveal every iridescent scale, spiky leg, and compound-eyed stare in pixel-perfect glory. His ‘Extinct & Endangered’ series isn’t just a technical flex. It’s a love letter to the overlooked, a visual SOS for the six-legged souls vanishing under our noses. Partnering with the American Museum of Natural History, Bliss magnifies rare and imperiled insects from their scientific obscurity into hyper-detailed icons. Each portrait is equal parts biological record and fashion editorial. Think mantises in mourning couture and beetles dressed for a disco in hell. It's ecological grief rendered in razor-sharp colour. This isn’t Bliss’s first insect rodeo. His earlier series 'Microsculpture' turned entomology into wall-sized awe. But ‘Extinct & Endangered’ carries more weight. It’s the visual equivalent of a bugle call for biodiversity. Because if you’re going to mourn the collapse of the ecosystem, you might as well do it in high definition.
What If Chromosomes Were Drag Queens? Parker Day’s Possessions Explores the Guts of Being Human
Parker Day’s Possessions is like if John Waters raided your subconscious, then embalmed it in drag and danger. Shot on gritty 35mm film with zero Photoshop and maximum attitude, it’s a 46-piece freak-chic parade of nude portraits - one for each chromosome - asking: what if your body was a costume, and your soul the drag act? The vibe is candy-coated horror: imagine Almodóvar bingeing candy and chaos reimagined by your local thrift-store dominatrix. Parker shoots everything analog, straight in-camera. No retouching. Dust, scratches, blood? All welcome. It’s punk glam with a side of organ meat. Raised in a San Jose comic shop, Parker studied at Academy of Art University before bolting to LA, where her ICONS series turned costumed identity into high-camp art. With Possessions, she dives deeper, into skin, selfhood, and the sacred absurdity of being. Her sets are velvet-draped selfie traps, her props are thrifted gold, and her subjects blur the line between performance and confession. This isn’t just photography; it’s a lo-fi exorcism. Parker Day doesn’t merely document people. She drags their ghosts into the spotlight, dresses them in a sequin boa, and dares them to strike a pose.
Caterina Solustri Turns Daydreams into Ecosystems and Teacups into Myths
Caterina Solustri doesn’t just draw, she photosynthesizes. Born in Italy’s flower-drunk Le Marche region and now blooming in Spain, Caterina makes art that feels like it was conjured by butterflies mid-gossip. Her world is one where plants flirt, women sprout from the soil, and animals dish out quiet wisdom like woodland therapists. It’s all dreamy colour and poetic curves, sure. But don’t be fooled. This is gentle rebellion, wrapped in fuchsia. Her illustrations whisper, hum, and occasionally shout: slow down, pay attention, feel something. Coffee cups dance, figures dissolve into ecosystems, and you start wondering if your houseplants secretly judge you (they do). Having worked with kids, elders, and everyone in between, Caterina’s got cross-generational witchcraft in her toolkit: half-storybook, half-soul tune-up. These aren’t just pretty pictures. They’re leafy little revolutions. Botanical manifestos with the nerve to be tender. She channels South American wilds and Andalusian sun like a seasoned joy smuggler, smearing magic across the page with the steady hand of someone who knows the Earth is very much alive and possibly watching. Honestly, if forests could hold a paintbrush, they’d ask her for lessons.
Josh Cochran’s Cities Hum With Colour, Curl Around Quiet Moments, and Sometimes Dream of Being Trees
Josh Cochran doesn’t sketch scenes, he builds neighbourhoods. Little universes packed with quiet chaos, rooftop gossip, and maybe a dog wearing sunglasses. What looks like a colourful doodle turns out to be a ten-storey apartment block of stories, all unfolding at once: one on the roof, two in the kitchen, three behind a curtain. His illustrations feel part architectural plan, part overheard conversation, and always a little bit nosy in the best possible way. I’ve been a fan since the mid-2000s when his pieces landed like candy-coloured portals to weirder, kinder cities. Originally from Taiwan by way of California, and trained at ArtCenter College of Design in Pasadena, Josh has gone on to illustrate for The New York Times, The New Yorker, and countless walls and record sleeves. His work often captures urban density with warmth and humour: places packed with people, pets, pipes, plants, and quiet drama. There’s a gentle wit in his linework, and a generosity of observation that makes even chaos feel strangely comforting. He builds ecosystems, not images. And somehow there’s always one detail you missed the first three times around.
If Gothic Lolitas Started a Cult, Celia Dunne Would Design the Uniforms
If you ever wake up with a little horned creature whispering sass into your soul, blame Celia Dunne. Her demon symbol - part-mascot, part-mischief spirit, part-accidental career move - has officially evolved from filler sketch to full-blown personal cult. It pops up in her tattoos, her paintings, a 3D sculpture collab, and possibly your dreams if you’ve stared too long at her Instagram. Think of it as her Bat-Signal, but for emotional chaos with ornamental spikes. Celia’s tattoo style lives somewhere between gothic bedtime story and haunted medieval doodle. Her creatures pout. Her saints scowl. Her angels occasionally look like they’ve just moshed at a black metal gig then sat for a Renaissance portrait. And it’s all delivered with the swagger of someone who’s been freehanding directly on skin like a chaos witch with a Sharpie. Her process? Equal parts muscle memory, divine inspiration, and “I just didn’t feel like doing a full sketch.” She doesn’t stay in one studio. She drifts, incense blazing, playlist slaying, yapping at 1000 BPM to make sure you’re not scared of the needle-wielding goth cartoonist about to draw on your ribs. Her vibe is cute but cursed, welcoming but weird, like if Lisa Frank got possessed during art school and never left. And if you asked her where she’d slap her demon logo if she could tag anything in the world? Easy: the Vatican. No caption needed. Just a wink from the underworld.
Photo credit: minami
Ei Wada Reanimates Dead Tech Into Glorious, Glitchy, Noise-Worshipping Frankenbands
Ei Wada grew up believing machines could sing. And he’s spent the rest of his life proving it. Equal parts inventor, performer, and sci-fi folklorist, the Tokyo-based artist-musician takes yesterday’s tech and jolts it back to life with glitchy, ecstatic sound. It’s not about nostalgia. It’s about resurrection. Broken barcode scanners, discarded CRT TVs, reel-to-reel tape decks: in Wada’s hands, these are no longer junk. They’re bandmates. His early vision was wild - a dream of a crab-legged tower hosting a fantastical music festival powered by obsolete electronics. Told it was impossible, he decided to make it real. In 2009, he founded Open Reel Ensemble, transforming old tape machines into expressive, percussive instruments. A year later, he debuted the Braun Tube Jazz Band (aka “TV Drums”), banging out rhythms on CRTs like some cyberpunk Gene Krupa. The result? Japan Media Arts Festival awards. International exhibitions. Paris fashion week scores. But Wada wasn’t done. In 2015, he launched ELECTRONICOS FANTASTICOS!, a sprawling project that turns dead appliances into living instruments with the help of over 150 collaborators. Think orchestras of fans, choirs of scanners, symphonies of electromagnetic chaos, all born from the idea that discarded tech still has stories to tell. Wada isn’t just remixing the analog past. He’s creating a whole new genre: Native Electromagnetic Music. It’s weird, wired, and wildly alive. And it makes you wonder: what else are we throwing away that could still dance, scream, and sing?
What Even Is This?
Neon Vandal is compiled, curated, and occasionally caffeinated by Zolton, co-founder of mid-2000s art-culture troublemaker Lost At E Minor. Think of it as the cousin that never left the art fair, stole the sharpies, and started its own cult. Still fringe-obsessed. Still algorithm-allergic. Still poking around for the bold, the bright, and the beautifully unhinged. We like our fonts hand-drawn, our artists unsupervised, and our culture with one eyebrow permanently raised. No ads. No pay-to-play. No snack-branded playlists pretending to be edgy. This is for the curious, the stubborn, and anyone who’s ever whispered “what the hell is that?” and meant it as a compliment.